Just Enough
by rerunsofreality
Summary: No one quite knows how they found each other or how they came to be, but they did know that the world was full of things no one quite understood and they could agree with that. [Carrie and Ender]


No one quite knows how they found each other or how they came to be, but they did know that the world was full of things no one quite understood and they could agree with that. They didn't argue or complain, only gladly accepting the other's company, the term used gently. The two of them were wanderers. They could never fit in anywhere and they had long since accepted it, come to terms with their loneliness. At least with each other they weren't alone, yet they were still lonely. The things they loved and kept dear to their hearts long gone and they were left with each other. Almost immediately they came to recognize that was temporary too, and there was nothing to do about it. They had felt the pangs in their hearts from the realization, but said nothing for it. For people like them, there was pain and there was neutrality and not much else. They've been hurt their whole lives.

The blonde walked towards him, while he was lost in his thoughts as always. One wouldn't believe he was just as pained inside as she was, until they took the time to look at him and she had plenty of time to do that. He was always warm smiles and kind words. He didn't have to be alone, not like her, he could escape if he wanted to. At least, pretend to, and she knew she didn't have to ask. It would only be a lost conversation and a way to waste time — perhaps she would, one day.

She was still crippled with fear, with regret, and she feared to be around anyone. Except him. Somehow, he was exempt. She didn't have to be afraid. Something about him, he was steel. She couldn't hurt him, he couldn't be touched. Still, she kept her hands firmly by her sides.

"Ender?" He didn't like to be touched anyways. A lot of people used to like to do that to her, put their hands on her shoulders, and she supposed it was intended to be comforting. It never was. She knew he shared her sentiment.

"Andrew," he corrects gently, turning his head and snapping himself from his thoughts. He saw her shudder and cringe lightly and he presses his lips into a line to keep from frowning. She always felt like she was doing something wrong, and she knew he didn't mean any wrong by it, but she couldn't help herself. It was instilled into her personality since she was a child, and he knew it too. "I'm sorry. Is there something wrong?"

Carrie steps forward and sits beside him, leaving enough space between them, trying to catch the last bit of the world he was staring so intently at moments ago though she knew it was put away. There was a moment of shared silence and his gaze shifts from her back to oblivion and she'll look with him.

"It's nothing, I don't…" She didn't know why she was there, in truth. She felt empty inside. Before where there used to be passion and anger there was nothing, only the aches of the past. Andrew nods; she sees it from the corner of her eye, understanding as always. She'd read in stories of characters that could stare one down and know one's soul, though that wasn't enough to describe how he looked at everyone. It's like he fell in love with everyone he saw, knew their successes and triumphs pains and struggles, he knew the absolute best and worst of them, while accepting and dealing with them accordingly. He once told her it was his greatest burden, though she sought to disagree. Other times, she wanted to get angry at him for being so calm and cool and collected all the time, but she never did. It was just a mask, like the one she wore.

He shifts beside her, turning in more towards his companion but still keeping his attention towards their view. "Carrie." Her head turns. "It's alright." It didn't mean anything to her, at least, not usually but since he held her essence in the palm of his hand, it meant just a touch more.

"I'm scared." She remembered the night, holding her mother's corpse in her arms, still warm and flushed. The only thing marring the image were the blades embedded into her chest, and the tears in her own eyes blurring her vision, unable to be held back. Sue stood there, begging her not to hurt her, and she repeated the same words to her. _I'm scared_. She felt the echoes and shadows of the past run through her, making her shake. She changed her answer. "I'm cold."

Of course she didn't expect him to do anything, and he again turned to look at her. Their eyes met. It was strange, to him, the irony nearly making him laugh, how her eyes were such a rich hazel color that one would think they would be warm and inviting. They should have been. She was too afraid to let them be. His own were blue, pale, and once they looked out at the world with a hardness to them, with anger that it would hurt him in this way, but he had to change them as it was best. He couldn't get her eyes to soften the way he did. She had to be coaxed from it gently. If he had laughed? Surely, it'd bounce around them, ringing and wonderful, and untouched by the tense atmosphere. It'd make her crawl more into herself. He didn't need another person figuring out he was a monster. Then again, that's where she was. Right now.

Monsters. They were monsters. They were almost fictional, tales to tell children to scare them. Yet here they were, existing in a strange, melancholy harmony that would take centuries to make any sense from, except for them. She alone knew how it felt to have the death of the masses on her hands, on her shoulders, being isolated all her life. She too was alienated from having friends, from living a normal life, and she was far too separated to start. As was he. They were too unique for their worlds, and here they were. They belonged to each other only that they were apart from the rest.

She was still waiting for some sort of reaction, though often times she was met with a knowing look and she was beginning to think it was another one of those times. So instead she sighs, exhaling in frustration for something indescribable, planning to leave again soon to her own devices. He moves again. She waits.

His pale hand lay on top of hers – cold too, she thinks to herself, and she looks to him. Pink lips offer him half a smile and he gives away nothing, retreating into his thoughts again. He knew her, he understood her, and Carrie did her best to understand him too.

It was only a touch, but it was enough.


End file.
